Mandy stared at Garrett’s stiff back as he shoved open the agency doors and exited the building. She called after him. “Signing those adoption papers is the best thing you could do for him.”
She knew he’d heard her. He simply didn’t bother to reply.
It took her a second to catch up with his long strides. His stoic silence irritated her.
“It’s what your ex-wife wanted.”
Still no reply. He just kept walking.
“You’re not really considering raising that baby by yourself, are you?”
He rounded on her, his face a mask of pain and anger, his eyes narrowed to icy slits. It was the first real and honest emotion she’d seen from him. She stopped, but she didn’t retreat.
It was as if some hidden floodgate had finally opened and the words poured out of him. “Two days ago, I found out my wife was murdered. We were divorced and we hadn’t spoken for almost a year, but I still cared about her. Today, I call to make funeral arrangements and I find out I have a son.”
He pointed toward the building. “You and that slick-haired bottom-feeder want me to write him off like a bad debt without so much as seeing him. I can understand why that attorney is so anxious to get my autograph. He’ll make money if I sign, but why are you so dead set on it?”
If you give him up, he could be mine.
Facing the real reasons she wanted Garrett to relinquish custody was painful and sobering. Instead of voicing it, she said, “I’ve seen enough kids suffer because they were unwanted burdens. Colin deserves parents who truly want him.”
The mask suddenly dropped over Garrett’s features again. He retreated into himself, but not before she caught a glimpse of some terrible pain in his eyes. The raw emotion shocked her.
Reaching toward him, she asked, “Are you okay?”
He flinched away from her hand, but didn’t answer. He was hurting; she knew it, but didn’t know how to help. She didn’t know if she should help. A strange sympathetic impulse tugged at her heart.
She said, “You should take some time and think about what’s best for the child.”
Folding his arms over his chest as if holding on for dear life, he looked over her, not at her.
Now she knew what Fred meant about him.
His anger was easier to face than this blank silence. She chose a different track. “The pen you snapped in half was probably expensive.”
Her abrupt change of topic seemed to throw him off balance. He blinked hard, but then his eyes locked with hers. “Who cares about a stupid pen?”
“Destruction of personal property is a crime.”
He leaned toward her. “So arrest me.”
Raising one eyebrow, she fixed him with a steely stare in return. “Don’t think I won’t.”
He took a step closer. “Where’s my son?”
Surprisingly, she didn’t find his nearness threatening. Just the opposite.
She caught the clean smell of sun-dried denim from his shirt. Unlike Donald Victor, no expensive cologne covered Garrett’s warm, musky, strictly masculine scent. Mandy licked suddenly dry lips.
He was close enough to touch. She wanted to press her hand against his chest, to feel the beating of his heart under the fabric of his shirt. The urge to cup his cheek, to feel the rasp of his whiskers against her palm shook her with its intensity.
She wanted to ask about the pain he carried deep inside.
She gazed into his eyes. His pupils darkened and his expression softened. In that moment, Mandy knew he felt it, too. This strange and exciting bond between them wasn’t one-sided.
He closed his eyes and the connection was broken. Mandy’s sanity returned in full force.
Was she nuts? The man was a suspect in his ex-wife’s murder.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back, forcing herself to ignore the unexplained attraction pulling her toward him. “The child is somewhere safe.”
“Was he hurt in the wreck?”
“He had a few minor injuries.”
He zeroed his gaze on her. “How minor?”
“A broken collarbone and some bruises.”
His jaw dropped. “A broken collarbone? You call that minor? How soon can I see him?”
“I’ll let you know.”
He glared at her. “You can’t keep me away from my own son.”
Unfolding her arms, she settled her right hand on her holster. Better men than Garrett Bowen had tried to intimidate her and failed. “I can and I will. The child is already in Social Services’ custody, and you’re a suspect in his mother’s murder.”
He pulled back a fraction and blew out an impatient huff. “If you had one shred of evidence, I’d already be in jail.”
Unfortunately, he was right.
Spinning away from her, he crossed the last few yards to his truck and yanked open the door. Sliding behind the wheel, he stuck his key in the ignition, but didn’t close the door or turn on the engine. Wiley eyed them quietly.
After several long seconds of gripping the wheel with both hands and fighting some internal struggle, he finally looked at Mandy. “What’s it gonna take? What do I have to do to see my son?”
She exhaled slowly. Was he sincere about wanting to see his child or was it all a show for her benefit? Something told her it was real.
“Until I get a conclusive paternity test and at least the preliminary tests back on the paint from your truck, I’m not allowing a visit.”
“How long will that take?”
“Hard to say.”
His eyes narrowed into a sharp glare for an instant. She thought he was going to argue, but then he simply nodded. “Once I’m cleared, what happens?”
He sounded so sure he would be. Mandy’s opinion shifted a hair toward believing him, but she’d been fooled before.
“If you’re cleared, and it’s certain that you’re the baby’s father, it will be up to Social Services to decide if you’re a fit parent.”
If she hadn’t been watching him so closely she might have missed the way his knuckles turned white where they gripped the steering wheel. He turned his face away.
More than anything, she wanted to read what was in his eyes.
“Can I call and check on him?” His voice was level, almost toneless, as if he couldn’t allow any more emotion to escape.
“You can call me. I’ll pass along any changes in his medical condition.”
Sitting up straight, he fixed his eyes over her head. They were expressionless, holding no clue to what he was thinking. “I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t kill Judy.”
She arched one eyebrow. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard suspects protest their innocence? Care to guess how many times they were lying?”
His gaze slid to meet hers. “I’m not lying, but that doesn’t make any difference to you, does it? In your eyes, I’m guilty until proven innocent. What if you never find out who killed her?”
“I don’t give up easily, Mr. Bowen. I will find who is responsible.”
“Make it soon. I’ll call tomorrow to check on—” He stumbled to a halt. A fleeting look of confusion crossed his features.
“Colin,” she supplied. “His name is Colin.”
“Colin,” he repeated softly. The barest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll call and check on Colin tomorrow.”
As Mandy watched Garrett drive away, she wondered why she wanted so much to believe he was innocent.
Garrett braked to a stop in front of his home and turned off his truck. Wiley whined to get out and pawed at the window, but Garrett didn’t move. The same question had been tumbling through his brain since he left the attorney’s office in Wichita.
Why didn’t Judy tell me I had a son?
They had talked a little about having children when they were together. Judy wasn’t keen on the idea. He knew she came from a rough home—the same as he did. He thought in time she’d grow to want children. Instead, drugs had taken over her life and pushed him out of it.
Wiley whined again and shoved his cold nose under Garrett’s hand. Garrett pulled his thoughts back to the present and glanced down at the dog.
“I guess I’ll never know what she was thinking. The real question is, what do I do now? Any suggestions?”
Wiley’s reply was a wide yawn.
“You’re a big help. Should I sign the adoption papers?”
Garrett thought he’d come to terms with spending his life alone. It was better than facing the pain of caring about someone and then having him or her walk out of his life the way Judy had—the way his mother had.
Only now, he didn’t have to face life alone.
“I have a son.” He said the words aloud, letting them sink in. “The ranch will be his someday.” The thought brought a quiet joy—an emotion so foreign he almost didn’t recognize it.
Garrett turned back to stare at the square two-story ranch house and his pleasure faded. The tall narrow windows on the upper story stared back from beneath the gabled roof like vacant eyes. All the shades were drawn. All the secrets were shut up where no one could see.
Maybe it was time to face them.
He rubbed his suddenly cold hands on the thighs of his jeans. Wiley whined softly. Leaving the truck, Garrett climbed the steps of the porch. Wiley raced ahead and began his usual twirling dance in front of the door. Unlocking it, Garrett let the pup in.
Wiley made a beeline for his bowls on the rag rug at the side of the kitchen cabinets and began lapping at his water dish.
Garrett walked to three doors at the very back of the kitchen. The one straight ahead led to a small bathroom. The one on the left led to the basement. The door on the right was the one he never opened.
Reaching for the knob, his hand shook slightly. Seeing the fine tremor brought a sick feeling to his midsection. Would he ever lose this fear?
Grasping the brass knob firmly, he pulled open the door. Unoiled hinges groaned and creaked in protest. A rush of stale air carried the smell of musty rooms long closed off. He glanced up the dusty stairwell.
A storm of bitterness and fear twisted his stomach until the ache made him press a hand to his belly.
He hadn’t climbed the steps in front of him in ten years.
Judy had made fun of him for leaving so much of the house shut off. He knew she’d explored the upper level when they were first married. She complained about not being able to open one closet. He told her the key had been lost. It was the only time he’d ever lied to her.
Since he’d converted an old parlor into a ground-floor bedroom long before they met, she rarely ventured upstairs after a month or so.
He knew what was up there—he just didn’t like to think about it.
He started upward, his boots echoing on the wooden risers. At the top of the steps, the stairs ended in a short hall. Down the corridor, three closed doors, like silent sentinels, guarded the ghosts of his past.
He opened the first door on his right and looked into the room that had belonged to his parents.
It was empty. The hardwood floor was scratched and scarred under a layer of grime. Two oval voids on the walls showed where pictures had once hung. A large brown smear still stained the wallpaper beneath the window. His mother’s blood. He closed his mind against the memory.
The click, click, click of doggy toenails on the bare wooden floor made Garrett look down as Wiley came in. The dog made a circuit of the barren room, sniffing as he went. He stopped at the window and rose on his hind legs to look out.
After checking the view, Wiley dropped back to all fours and came to sit beside Garrett. The dog’s bushy tail swept an arch of the floor free of dust but raised a cloud of it into the air. Wiley sneezed twice. The knot in Garrett’s midsection eased.
“There’s not much to see up here.” The sound of his own voice forced back the panic he felt.
Wiley’s tail swung faster. He whined and licked his lips.
Gathering his courage, Garrett opened the room’s closet door. A pair of shirts, a few worn dresses and a dusty black suit hung from wire hangers on the rod. Other than the clothes the space was empty. Garrett ignored the contents.
Reaching up, he felt along the shelf until his finger touched metal. He pulled an old-fashioned key down and left the room with it clutched in his hand.
Out in the hall, he walked to the next door on the right and stepped into the room that had been his when he was a child.
To anyone looking, it was just another empty room. Painted a pale blue with a cheap carpet remnant covering the center of the floor, it seemed like a benign space—unless someone knew where to look.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he crossed the room to the closet. His fist tightened over the key until it bit into his palm. Cold sweat beaded on his brow.
He couldn’t make himself unlock the door. He took a step back.
It was better to keep it closed. Better to keep everything locked away.
Once more, the click-clack of toenails heralded the approach of Wiley. The dog paused on the threshold and whined.
Garrett turned away from the closet. Leaving the room quickly, he pulled the door shut then leaned his head against the panel until his racing heart slowed.
It was over. It would never happen again.
Turning his back on the room, he straightened and looked at the opposite door. He crossed the hall and opened it without hesitation.
This room had been a storage space for as long as he could remember. Crammed with broken furniture, rolled up rugs and numerous boxes, it smelled of old cardboard and dust.
Surveying the space, he nodded. If he decided to raise the boy, this could become Colin’s room when he was older. No bad memories lingered here. It was just a room. This junk could be moved into the other bedrooms. It could be piled in front of the other closets hiding their secrets even deeper.
Was he really considering trying to raise his son alone? The pretty sheriff didn’t think he had any business doing so. Maybe she was right. What business did he have pretending to be a father?
They’d never let him keep Judy’s boy. He was crazy to think they might.
Don’t hope for too much. Don’t wish for too much. Someone will take it away.
Hope wasn’t worth the pain that came with it.
Wiley parked his paws on Garrett’s leg and barked.
“You’re right. We should go. I’m sure you want your lunch.”
The dog started yipping and hopping in excited circles.
A lonely cowboy and a nutty dog with a crooked tail. Both of them misfits in the world beyond this ranch. They had nothing but each other. Until today, it had seemed like enough.
Pointing toward the door, Garrett said, “Go on. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Wiley dashed into the hall and Garrett listened to him descending the stairs. Crossing the hallway back to his parents’ bedroom, he replaced the key and left the room as he’d found it.
The ghost of his past couldn’t be erased, but it was welcome to keep the top floor. At the bottom of the stairs, he pulled the door shut again and turned his back on the place where his nightmares lived.
Thursday morning, a week after her visit to Judy Bowen’s attorney, Mandy sat at the cluttered oak desk in her office and stared at the crime lab reports in her hands. The only sound in the room was the crackle of paper as she flipped over a page and continued reading, then flipped back to read it again. Finally, she looked up at the man seated on the other side of the desk.
“The paint’s not a match to Garrett Bowen’s truck. It’s cheap black spray paint, the kind you can buy at any automotive or hardware store. It’s not going to help us much.”
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that she had no evidence to tie Garrett to the crime.
Thomas Wick, the county attorney, tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I assume this lets Mr. Bowen off the hook.”
A man in his midfifties, Thomas was neatly dressed in a dark blue suit over a pristine white shirt and a bolo tie with a large silver concho. He sat at ease in one of the brown leather wingback chairs that made Mandy’s small office seem even smaller.
She closed the folder and leaned back, hoping her frustration didn’t show. “For now. The paint on his vehicle is original from the factory. He had motive. He had opportunity. It would have been nice to tie this up in a neat package. Instead, I’m back to square one. Who wanted Judy Bowen dead and why?”
“Maybe it was a simple case of road rage.”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “Maybe, but my gut tells me there’s more to it. Have you been out to the site?”
“Of course.”
“Then you might have noticed her car ended up in the deepest ravine anywhere along that highway. I think someone knew the road and knew exactly where to run her off.”
“What about the murder she was supposed to have witnessed in Kansas City?”
“I had Donna request the files on the case, but we haven’t received them yet.”
“Social Services will be pushing to find placement for the baby. I understand he can be released from the hospital soon.”
Mandy nodded. “I talked to their social worker this morning. The paternity test is conclusive. It’s Garrett’s child.”
“Because we’re not swearing out an arrest warrant for him, we can’t keep him from his son much longer.”
Drumming her fingers on the desk, Mandy said, “I’ve got no legal reason to keep him away, but the situation is a recipe for disaster. He should honor his ex-wife’s wishes and go through with the adoption. A man like that doesn’t have a clue about raising a baby.”
“Single parents raise children all the time,” Thomas chided.
Mandy shook her head. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“The man is hiding something. I feel it in my bones. He has one arrest for drugs—”
“That was three years ago. Nothing since then. His financial records don’t show anything out of line. We’ve got nothing tying him to his ex-wife’s death.”
Mandy knew that as well as Thomas did. “Something about the man has me puzzled, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
She’d already lost enough sleep over Garrett’s behavior, over the way he could shut off his emotions at the drop of a hat. Was she projecting guilt onto him because the case was similar to one she’d blown years ago? No, it was something more.
She steepled her fingers on the desktop. “If he keeps the baby, I’ll be keeping a close eye on both of them.”
Tom blew out a long, slow breath. “I’m afraid that’s all anyone can do at this point. The nurses at the hospital tell me you’ve been over every night to tuck in the little fellow.”
Embarrassed that her emotional attachment had become common knowledge, Mandy tried to shrug off her involvement. “I feel responsible for him. Besides, he’s adorable. He has the sweetest smile.”
And a dimple in his cheek like his father.
True to his word, Garrett had called every day for an update on Colin’s condition. Each time she talked to him, Mandy felt her resistance to him crumble a little more. If only she could be sure he was innocent.
Having been so wrong once before, she wasn’t willing to take that chance again. Colin’s life might depend on it.
“Any other cases I should know about?” Tom asked.
Pushing her conflicting feelings about Garrett to the back of her mind, Mandy went over the cases that needed Tom’s attention. “Besides a few traffic tickets and a dispute between neighbors over some cows on the highway, the county has been quiet for the past few days. The only major arrest we’ve had is that young couple on burglary charges that I brought in yesterday.”
“Is it a solid case? Never mind, that was a stupid question. You always bring me solid cases. You do good police work, Sheriff. We’re lucky to have you.”
“Thanks.” Praise from Tom was high praise, indeed.
Rising to his feet, Tom said, “I’ll be in my office if you need me. Do you want to notify Social Services that Bowen’s been cleared or shall I?”
“I’ll do it.”
At the door, he paused with his hand on the knob. “I’ve been meaning to ask how things are working out between you and Fred Lindholm? I know there was a lot of resentment on his part when he was passed over and you were appointed sheriff.”
“Sometimes Fred’s attitude isn’t the best, but I think we’re making it work.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
After he left the office, Mandy added her findings to the file she already had on Judy Bowen. At the sound of a knock, she looked up to see Fred enter.
She asked, “Have you had a chance to interview J. J. Fields and Spike Carver about the farm supply robbery?”
“They claim they had legitimate reasons for being in the store.”
“And you believed them?”
“They’re both working as tow truck drivers for Turner’s Truck Stop. They claim they were in the store to pick up new work gloves and that’s how their prints got there.”
Puzzled, Mandy asked, “Why would Aaron Turner hire a pair of shady characters like J. J. and Spike? Does he know they have arrest records?”
“I assume he does.”
“Don’t assume, Fred. Check.”
His scowl deepened, but he didn’t comment. He just turned on his heels and left. Donna poked her head in when he was gone.
“Sheriff, Ken called to say he’s going to be a half hour late this morning.”
Mandy had a hard time containing her annoyance. “Again? That’s the third time in a month. Did he give you a reason?”
“He said he overslept.”
“If he keeps this up, he and I are going to have a chat.”
Donna took a step into the room. “Is that the report on the paint sample? What does it say?”
“The paint isn’t a match to Bowen’s truck.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. It just means he was driving a different vehicle.”
“I thought of that, but I’ve got no proof that he had access to another truck.”
Dragging a hand through her hair to get it out of her face, Mandy wondered what she was missing. Her whole focus was on Garrett. He’d become an obsession and she wasn’t sure why.
“I may be looking in the wrong place on this. Did K.C. ever send the files on the murder investigation I asked for?”
“I haven’t seen them.”
“Request them again. I’m not going to rest until I find out who left that baby to die in a burning car.”